


Protecting Draco

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Voldemort ensconced in Malfoy Manor, Fenrir in his good books, and the Malfoys in disgrace, the Dark Lord feels his tame werewolf deserves a prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting Draco

“Not the bitch.” Fenrir Greyback looked Narcissa up and down, a half-regretful expression on his face. “His Lordship’s agreed it can’t be her, thanks to that witch sister of hers. So…” He turned to the other two, Lucius and Draco, father and son. “It’s one of you. And guess what? I’m feeling generous. You can choose which of you will be my new pet.”

There was only one answer to that, and Lucius knew it. He exchanged a strained glance with Narcissa and stepped forward.

“I will.”

“No! Father!” Draco tried to pull him back. “Mother, tell him he mustn’t!”

But Narcissa would say no such thing, as Lucius knew. Father? Or son? There was no competition. In the sudden silence, Lucius looked at the sharp-toothed, dirty monster facing him. In truth, he could not have spoken had he wished to do so. Fear trickled slowly down his spine. He knew what Fenrir was capable of. Lucius was not a courageous man – had never had to be, until lately – and the years in Azkaban had brought him close to breaking point. Since then, in the Dark Lord’s disfavour, life had been a living hell. Or so he had thought. Greyback had just shown him that life could get worse still. The werewolf’s smile was predatory as he looked Lucius over.

“So, Mr Malfoy, _Sir_.” The irony in his tone was overloaded with malice. Lucius knew that Greyback had no reason to love him. “Come with me.”

When Lucius did not move (because he could not; the fear was literally paralysing him), Fenrir reached forward and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking it hard towards him. Narcissa put her hand on Lucius’s shoulder for a moment; a brief second of warmth. He took a first tentative step with Greyback, but Draco was there now, pulling on his arm in the opposite direction to the werewolf.

“Father, you can’t – you mustn’t!” Draco’s voice cracked and jolted.

Lucius had to look away. He could not bear to see the pain in his son’s eyes; could think of no words to bring comfort. Narcissa did what was necessary, holding Draco back, detaching his fingers one by one from Lucius’s arm (there would be bruises – if he lived long enough for them to appear), murmuring words of comfort to her beloved son. _Their_ beloved son. Lucius had no choice.

Fenrir was moving again now, bored by proceedings. He still had his hand grasping Lucius’s hair: there was no need for it – Lucius could hardly run from his captor – but then that wasn’t the point. Greyback would take this chance to humiliate Lucius just that little bit more, dragging him down the passages of his own manor house like an obscene trophy. After all, that was precisely what Lucius Malfoy was.

Greyback took him to the cellar. To the dungeon. To the big underground room which he had taken over as his own. Lucius had been one of the watchers round the edge in this room as Fenrir did what Fenrir did best, in the name of the Dark Lord. Now he was here himself – and not as a watcher.

“It made me angry when His Lordship said I couldn’t have your wife.” Fenrir was prowling round Lucius, never settling for a moment. “Can you imagine what I could have done with a posh bit like that?” He laughed as Lucius bit his lip to avoid replying. “Yeah, I see you can. But you’re wrong, you know. I wanted her for my pack. We’re short of bitches.”

Lucius imagined the hands – claws – mouths – cocks of a pack of werewolves bearing down on Narcissa. It made him feel sick.

“I could’ve turned her, and then she’d be one of us. Of course…” Fenrir was closer now, just behind Lucius’s left shoulder. He could feel the werewolf’s rank breath against his cheek. “I could turn you, too.”

Lucius had been waiting for it. The ever-present threat that Fenrir posed. And to turn someone who had been as vehemently and cruelly anti-wolf as Lucius had been… it would be the perfect revenge. Lucius knew Greyback too well to hope that he wouldn’t want revenge.

“Does that frighten you? Does that frighten Mr Malfoy?” Fenrir asked, returning in front of Lucius and looking him full in the face.

Lucius’s eyes were lowered. Fenrir Greyback was no fool. A vicious, blood-thirsty animal – but no fool. He would know that Lucius was frightened; more than frightened; terrified. Lucius’s bowels rumbled so loudly that Fenrir heard. Humiliated, Lucius prayed that his sphincter would not betray him.

“What’s the matter? Werewolf got your tongue?” Fenrir laughed at his own joke. “Speak, Mr Malfoy. Tell your owner what you think of my plans.”

How could he speak? Even if Lucius could clear the lump blocking his throat, what was there to say? Begging for mercy would not help: even the Dark Lord had more mercy than Greyback. But there was something in Fenrir’s attitude which Lucius dared not challenge. Swallowing hard, he managed to force one word out.

“Please.” It was a plea not for his life – he already knew that he would not survive his time in Fenrir’s control – but for the swiftness of death. Please, by all the gods, let Greyback kill him without putting him through too much first.

“’Please’?” Fenrir mimicked him cruelly, pinching his chin and bringing his own face so that they were mere inches apart. “Look at me, Malfoy. Look at your owner.” Lucius dared not refuse. Throat constricted, he raised his eyes to meet those of Fenrir Greyback. “Not so proud now, are we?” Fenrir whispered. “Are you begging already, Mr Malfoy, Sir? When we’re only just getting started?”

Lucius did not know how he still stood upright. He remembered the look in the eyes of Fenrir’s victims; remembered too how they had looked when Fenrir had finished with them. And that had merely been for amusement, or the wish of the Dark Lord. This, Lucius knew too well, was personal. He was trembling uncontrollably; so much so that when Greyback let go of him he fell to the floor. Greyback kicked him.

“Miserable coward.” Fenrir spat on him. 

Lucius still could not control his shaking body; he knew how Greyback must be despising him. But then, he had been so humiliated by the Dark Lord already. Almost – almost – he was immune to the sensation.

“W-w-what are you g-going to do to me?” he whispered, ashamed to be asking, knowing that the answer would bring no comfort.

 

“Fuck, look at you,” Greyback said, his voice full of disgust. “Are you scared I’ll turn you? Such a miserable, snivelling shit-heap would be no fucking good. Pathetic.”

He would not be turned. Oh, God, Lucius had never been so thankful to be a coward in his life. He still could not stop the shivering, but a glow of warmth – like taking a swig of Firewhiskey – burned through his veins. Not be turned. He did not look up, staying curled up, foetus-like, on the floor at Greyback’s feet.

“Get up,” growled Fenrir, kicking him again.

“I-I can’t.” It was half-true; Lucius was not sure he had the courage to uncurl himself from his position on the floor. It felt… not safe, he knew he was anything but safe… but safer. He did not have to try to force his jelly-like muscles to support him; expose his soft, once-pampered body to Fenrir’s wrath.

The hand that grabbed the back of his robes was strong and merciless. Greyback literally hauled him up, pushing him face first against the stone wall. The stone grazed his forehead, cut at his hands as he instinctively brought them up to protect his face.

“I gave,” the werewolf snarled in his ear, “an order. If I tell you to get up, you pathetic piece of shit, you do it.”

Lucius was glad of the wall for the support it gave. Even with Greyback’s fury to combat, he did not think that he would otherwise have the strength to stay standing. He was protecting Draco, he reminded himself. If Lucius weren’t standing here, Draco would be. For all his faults, he loved his son. 

He could feel a trickle of blood running down the palm of his left hand. The first blood spilled. He knew it would not be the last. Greyback stood close behind him. Lucius could feel the warmth of the werewolf’s body heat, was aware of the hard lump which was Greyback’s cock digging into his arse. Greyback was enjoying himself in more ways than one. Oh God, would _that_ be asked of him? Was Fenrir going to rape him?

“Of course,” Greyback continued, his voice softer but no less threatening for that, “the kid might make a wolf. He’s young, could be trainable.” He laughed softly. “My pack would be lining up to ‘train’ him.”

“No. Please.” Lucius screwed his eyes tight shut, as if not seeing the situation he was in would make it not happen. “You have me. Leave my son alone.”

Fenrir tugged Lucius’s hair painfully, and Lucius caught his breath. But that was the agreement, wasn’t it? If Lucius suffered, Draco need not. That was why Lucius was here.

“You disgust me,” Greyback hissed, droplets of spit landing on the side of Lucius’s face. “Thinking you’re so great, treating me like dirt. And now look at you. What good are you now, Lucius Malfoy? You’re nothing. I could cut you up, piece by piece, feed you to the pack. Let you watch as they ate you alive.”

“Please,” Lucius whispered, feeling sick.

“’Please’, is it, again? Agh.” Fenrir let go of him and walked away. Lucius could hear the footsteps, but still did not dare to turn around. “Pathetic.”

Lucius clung to the wall, trembling. Fenrir had threatened so much, such horrors, that they all began to blend into one. Almost, there had been so much fear that Lucius could dread no more. Or so he thought.

Fenrir turned, and prowled back towards him, almost silent save for his steady breathing. “There is one further possibility, though,” he whispered, the pleasure in his voice tangible. “One way in which you might be… palatable to my pack.” Without warning, he reached round, grabbing Lucius’s cock in one grimy hand. “Without this, Mr Malfoy. Ah, without this you might make a better bitch even than your wife. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Lucius could not speak.

“Castrate you. Turn you into the pack bitch. Oh, they’d like that. They’d like that a lot.” Lucius realised that there was a knife in Fenrir’s hand; a sharp, jagged bladed, silver knife. Greyback ripped open Lucius’s robes, cut through the underwear clothing Lucius’s cock and balls. “They’d like that a lot,” he whispered again.

And Lucius, fear blanking his mind so that he barely knew what was going on, barely knew what it was he said, spoke the words. Two words, just two. Two unforgiveable words. Ones he would do anything to take back.

“Take Draco,” he said.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * ["Take Draco."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216604) by [RunSquidling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunSquidling/pseuds/RunSquidling)




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